The morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Hermione stirred awake, her eyes slowly adjusting to the sight before her.

Harry lay on the floor like a tiny starfish, his arms and legs splayed out in every direction, utterly carefree in his sleep. Neville, equally oblivious, had draped himself across Harry, his little body forming a gentle cross as he slumbered. With each rise and fall of Harry's chest, Neville's head would softly bump against the ground, a rhythmic motion that seemed to lull them both deeper into their dreams. Despite the awkward tangle of limbs, there was a quiet serenity in their peaceful expressions, their innocence untouched by the world around them.

Warmth pooled in her heart as she watched the boys, her boys, and a small smile tugged at her lips. But then she noticed something else—something that made her breath catch.

Her hand was entwined with Frank's, their fingers interlocked as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She yanked her hand away, her heart racing. It was too intimate, too personal. The connection between them, however unintentional, made her feel things she wasn't sure she was ready to confront. For a moment, she allowed herself to linger, taking in the sight of him—his dark hair tousled, his usually sharp features softened in the gentle morning light.

Still a bit sleepy, Hermione imagined what it might be like to wake up like this every morning, with Harry and Neville peacefully snuggled close, and Frank beside her. The warmth of the scene seeped into her heart, an unfamiliar comfort, almost enough to make her wish that this could be her reality. But the thought was too intimate, too far from where they truly stood, and she quickly pushed it aside, feeling a pang of longing she dared not dwell on. Reality crashed back in, and she quickly slid out of bed, careful not to wake the boys.

Hermione left the room quietly, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions swirling inside her. She hurried down the hall, her heart pounding in her chest. She barely had time to collect herself when she heard hurried footsteps behind her. She turned just in time to see Frank stumble out of the bedroom, his hair mussed and his clothes askew. He looked as disheveled as she felt.

"Hermione," Frank called out, his voice tinged with panic. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down. "We... We shouldn't have done that."

Hermione blinked, taken aback by the urgency in his tone. "Done what?" she asked cautiously, though she knew exactly what he meant. Oh, Merlin…

Frank took a deep breath, his expression conflicted, as if each word he was about to speak cost him dearly. "Last night... holding hands," he began, his voice trembling slightly. "It... it was wrong." He paused, clenching his fists, trying to steady himself. His eyes searched hers, but they were clouded with guilt and confusion. "I—" His voice faltered again, before he straightened up, forcing the words out with a hollow finality. "I love Alice. I always will. No one can ever take her place in my heart."

The words hung heavy in the air, more like a confession than a statement, and even as he said them, the pain etched on his face betrayed the depth of his struggle. It was as if he was trying to convince himself as much as he was her, and the anguish of that truth cut deeper than he'd anticipated.

His words cut through Hermione like a knife. Her chest tightened, the sting of rejection sharp and painful. She had expected this, hadn't she? Of course, Frank still loved Alice—how could he not? But hearing him say it aloud, so definitively, still hurt more than she had anticipated.

"I understand," Hermione managed to say, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. "You don't need to explain, Frank. It was just... It was an accident."

Frank nodded, though the tension in his shoulders didn't ease. "Good. Because... because this can't happen again. We can't let this happen again."

Hermione swallowed hard, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Of course. It won't happen again."

There was an awkward silence, filled with the weight of unsaid things. Frank shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze. He looked so lost, so consumed by his guilt and grief. Hermione wanted to reach out, to offer him some kind of comfort, but she knew it wasn't her place. Not anymore.

With a small nod, Hermione turned and walked back to her room, her steps quick and purposeful. She needed to get away, to put distance between them before the tears she was holding back could spill over.

Once inside her room, Hermione shut the door behind her and leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. She rested her head against the wood, closing her eyes as the memories flooded in. She could still see it so vividly—Alice's funeral. The way Frank had fallen to his knees, his cries of anguish echoing in her ears. He had loved Alice so deeply, so completely. Hermione had envied her then, envied the love that Frank had for his wife. It was a love she had never known, a love she feared she would never have.

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as the painful realization settled over her. She had always been the strong one, the clever one, the one who solved everyone else's problems. But who was there to cry for her? Who would mourn if she were gone? The answer, as always, was no one.

Hermione wiped at her eyes, frustrated with herself for being so vulnerable, so foolish. She had Harry and Neville, and that should be enough. They needed her, depended on her. And her books, of course—her beloved books that had always been her refuge, her solace.

But as Hermione sat alone in her room, the silence pressed down on her, suffocating in its stillness. The emptiness inside her was a hollow ache, gnawing at her insides, relentless and unforgiving. She had always prided herself on being strong, on standing tall when others would crumble. Independence had been her shield, a way to protect herself from the pain of wanting what she could never have. But in this moment, all the walls she had built came crashing down, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

The truth, the one she had buried deep, clawed its way to the surface. She did want someone—needed someone. Someone who would see her, truly see her, and not just the clever girl with all the answers. Someone who would care for her, hold her when the weight of the world became too much to bear. She longed for that comfort, that solace, the kind of love that wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a cold night.

But more than anything, she wanted someone who would cry for her. She wanted to be loved so fiercely, so completely, that her absence would leave a gaping hole in someone's life. Like Frank had cried for Alice. Like he had broken at the loss of her. That kind of love was like a distant dream, something she wasn't sure she even deserved.

Hermione closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks as she hugged her knees to her chest. The truth was too painful to ignore anymore. She was tired of being strong, tired of pretending that she didn't need anyone. But here she was, in a world where love seemed to exist for everyone but her. She was surrounded by people, by responsibilities, by duties—but still, she was so desperately alone.

And in that moment, the ache in her heart grew unbearable, because she knew that no matter how much she longed for it, that kind of love would never be hers. Not here. Not now. Maybe not ever.

It was a foolish dream, and she didn't have the luxury of dreaming anymore. With a deep breath, Hermione pushed herself up from the floor and squared her shoulders. She had work to do, responsibilities to fulfill. And that, she reminded herself, would have to be enough.

As she moved to gather her things for the day, Hermione couldn't help but glance at the door, wondering what it would be like if things were different. But she quickly pushed the thought away. She couldn't afford to dwell on what could never be.